#plum & peach = many colours

[todayintokyo]

[source]

[eveningward]

Peach, Plum, Pear... Pomegranate!

I've been trying to make some pixel art for a potential project ;D

[l0vergirlsw0rld]

Need fluff with logan and a southern reader pretty pretty pls!!!

I’m from a hawt place so a winter man in a winter cabin is needed right about now. Please can I request headcanons or a one shot about the reader that bakes him so many sweets/makes so much food for winter he gets chubby and notices, maybe they swap recipes or bake together? Just so much domestic fluff

It’s a primal need to see this man happy, unbothered in the Canadian wilderness, thriving with anything his heart wants and I know I can make that happen lmao

taste of home

bigdaddy!loganxsouthern!reader

a/n: i got so inspired by this request that I started and finished in one session! was definitely needed to whip up some cute cozy feel feel-good after the hours of writing smut for Ravish. thank you for the request, my asks are always open! hope y'all enjoy it! <3 a/n: i got so inspired by this request that I started and finished in one session! was definitely needed to whip up some cute cozy feel feel-good after the hours of writing smut for Ravish. thank you for the request, my asks are always open! hope y'all enjoy it! <3

wc: 1k

18+ MDNI | sexual themes, FLUFF, the name daddy is used.

summary: Y/N has been a little homesick lately and found a temporary cure through baking for Logan.

"What're you getting all dolled up for?" Logan cooed from the doorframe he was leaning on, his arms crossed. 

Your eyes met his reflection in the mirror of your vanity. 

"Nothin', just felt like being pretty." You smiled up at him as you put on your pearl earrings. 

It was true, you had nowhere to go. Logan's cabin was located in quite literally the middle of nowhere. Miles and miles of trees surrounded the property secluding you both from any and all civilization. 

Back home, it was part of your routine to get ready for the day even though all you'd do was stay home. There was something fulfilling about looking your best every day: if you looked good, you felt good.

You had felt a little homesick lately.

 Logan had dragged you deep into the Canadian forests for the winter because he couldn't stand the southern heat that you were used to. At first, you weren't a fan of the idea, but seeing as how happy it made Logan, it made the move all worthwhile.

He'd let go of his negative ways, he was now affectionate, talkative, and adventurous. His being away from all the stress allowed him to show you some of his other colours and vibrant ones at that.

"What do you always say... as pretty as a plum?" He snorted.

"As a peach. It's pretty as a peach." You giggled. 

"Well then, darling, you're as pretty as a peach." He corrected himself, pushing off the door frame and walking up behind your chair.

"Why thank you, Daddy," You blushed as he placed a gentle kiss on your exposed shoulder. 

"God, I love it when you call me that." He groaned into your skin, giving you a soft bite. 

You giggled from the slight pinch and finished getting ready with a few final pats of powder. 

"Mmm, as much as I'd want to do that with you right now, know what day it is. It's my baking day, Lo'." You tipped your head back and pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek. 

"Can't you do it tomorrow baby?" He huffed.

"You know it's tradition, Sunday is baking day. Do you want more sweets or what?" You raised an eyebrow. 

"Yes, mam'." He chuckled, taking a seat on the bed and letting you get to your  work station.

He knew how serious you got about your baking, it was your primary way of curing your homesickness. 

You'd always keep a pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge and cupboards stocked with fresh bread and goodies. Logan could not bring himself to complain, he had developed a major sweet tooth since being with you. Every time you'd make new batches they would be gone in a matter of a few days. It's as if he'd eat one each time he'd pass by them. 

You didn't mind though, it warmed your heart to see how much he enjoyed your baking. Often you'd find some powdered sugar left in his beard. 

"You should watch it with those," You'd warn him as he devoured them, one by one. 

"I got bones of steel. No need to worry baby, sugar is the last thing that'll take me out." He mumbled with his mouth full, not being able to control himself around your delicious treats.

His favourites were your peach cobbler, lemon bars and peanut butter-chocolate fudge. Those were also conveniently the easiest ones to make. You had tried to teach Logan how to make them on his own, but it never stuck. 

"Why are they flat like pancakes? I followed your recipe," He had come to you while you left him unsupervised in the kitchen. You put your embroidery down and peered into the baking pan. 

"Did you use baking powder?" You poked the gooey top of his 'cupcake.' 

"Yes." He grumbled.

"Are you sure it was baking powder and not baking soda?" You tasted the batter, making a face. Salty.

"There's a difference?" His eyebrows furrowed.

Baking didn't come naturally to Logan, and that was okay. You had your strengths and he had his, which is what made you two work so well together. 

You spent the entire day working up a storm in the kitchen. 

Multitasking the different steps for each recipe with ease. You had spent so much time of your life baking that tackling multiple projects at once didn't even make you break a sweat. Logan turned his leather armchair to face you from across the house so he could watch you. 

He enjoyed watching you get lost in your little head as you worked. The way your plump lips wrapped around your finger when you taste-tested the recipes, making sure they were just right for him. The slight lift of your dress as you bent over to grab some pans from storage. Your flushed skin, glowing underneath the kitchen light. That little sigh of relief would escape you as you tied your hair up from the heat of the oven. Just like that, silently, he'd ogle you from his corner, sipping his favourite whiskey, and watching his favourite doll. 

Of course, at any chance he'd get he'd be there to come help you when you needed him to reach some things that were too high up or lift the heavy sac of flour on the counter for you. 

Today, you had made the biggest batches yet, pans of cooling sweets covered your entire kitchen surface. 

"Whoa baby, what're you feeding, the army?" Logan teased as he walked by shirtless. 

When you first started seeing Logan, he was in optimal shape. He was nothing but an angry mess of hair and muscle. But since he moved you into the cabin, he had started putting on a few extra pounds, most likely from his overconsumption of your treats. 

"No, I'm feeding a Wolverine that's clearly getting ready for winter." You teased back, poking his stomach. 

 He stopped in his tracks and peered down at his hair-covered gut. 

In no way shape or form did he look bad with the added weight, if anything you like him having a few extra layers? 

"You callin' me fat?" Grinned mischievously. 

"I was just playin- ah Logan!" You gasped as he threw you over his shoulder with a swift motion. Holding your ass right next to his face with his arm. He hoisted up your dress with his free hand, revealing your white bow panties. Your legs kicked in protest. 

"Daddy, stop it- you're not fat-" 

"That's not very nice baby, gonna need to punish you." He chuckled giving you a hard spank on the cheek, then placed you back down. 

"Now if you will excuse me, I've gotta get ready for winter." He winked as he grabbed the cookie closest to him. Sinking with teeth in it with that smile you oh so fell in love with. 

🏷️: @babey-fruit-bat <3

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[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: On Colour

Describing Colour in your Poetry and Stories

BLACK Shadow Black, Dusk, Midnight, Blackbird, Blackberry, Ebony, Black Honey, Darkness, Jet Black, Ink Black, Soot, Onyx, Licorice, Ivory Black, Pitch, Char, Gloom, Outer Space, Creosote Black, Melanite, Goth Black, Gunpowder

BLUE Blueberry, Sapphire Blue Metallic, Tiffany Blue (Pantone 1837), Cobalt Blue, Denim, Aquamarine, Turquoise, Sky Blue, Topaz, Ultramarine Blue, Azure, Cerulean, Oxford Blue, Periwinkle, Electric Blue, Baby Boy Blue, Pthalo Blue, Robin's Egg Blue, Persian Blue, Marino Blue, Prussian Blue

GREEN Leafy Green, Olive, Moss Green, Jade, Lime, Sour Apple Green, Emerald Green, Mint, Kiwi Green, Phthalo Green, Praying Mantis Green, Viridian, Greenback, Shamrock, Sap Green, Chartreuse, Sea Green, Pistachio, Teal, Bamboo, Sea Salt, Celadon Green, Celery, Asparagus Green, Fern Green, Neon Green, Jungle Green, Pear Green

ORANGE Pumpkin, Burnt Orange, Carrot, Sunset Orange, Tangerine, Persimmon, Salamander, Tennessee Orange (Pantone 151), Jack-o'-lantern Orange, Florida Orange, Summer Squash, Pale Daffodil, Smashed Pumpkin, Saffron, Autumn Orange, Macaroni and Cheese, Cadmium Orange

PINK Pink Flamingo, Neon Pink, Bubblegum Pink, Salmon, Peach, Fuscia, Cotton Candy Pink, Rose, Carnation, Thulian, Apricot, Atomic Pink, Barbie Pink, Hot Pink, Amaranth, Flushed, Glitter Pink

PURPLE Lavender, Purple Haze, Grape, Eggplant Purple, Plum, Violet, Orchid, Psychedelic Purple, Amethyst, Lilac, Boysenberry, Mulberry, Wisteria, Bruised Plum, Indigo, Mauve

RED Blood Red, Copper, Maroon, Strawberry, Watermelon Red, Crimson, Candy Apple Red, Tomato, Brick Red, Scarlet, Cardinal Red, Cherry, Ruby Red, Coral, Sunburn, Hot Lava, Cadmium Red, Auburn, Blush, Alizarin Crimson, Fire Engine Red, Raspberry, Vermillion, Lipstick, Burgundy, Magenta, English Vermilion, Mahogany

WHITE Dirty White, Albino, Chalk, Alabaster, Cotton, Titanium White, Vanilla, Bone White Egg Shell, Marshmallow, Ivory, Pearl White, Almond, Champagne, Blond, Cream, Milky White, Corn Silk, Bleach, Navajo White, Ghost White, Light, Cloud White

YELLOW Canary Yellow, Lemon, Banana, Egg Yolk Yellow, Mellow Yellow, Chanterelle, Mustard Yellow, Corn, Goldenrod, Amber, Pineapple, Metallic Gold, Cadmium Yellow, Wheat, Tuscan Sun, Butter, School Bus Yellow, Yellow Ochre, Citron, Dandelion

BROWN Mud Brown, Beaver, Caramel, Rust, Macaroon, Toasty Brown, Coffee, Sandy Tan, Cocoa, Honey, Chocolate, Burnt Sienna, Mocha, Seashell, Antique Brass, Bronze, Brown Sugar, Chestnut Brown, Taupe, Burnt Umber, Khaki, Dark Sienna, Light Chocolate, Sepia

GRAY Stone Gray, Ash, Metallic Silver, Platinum, Smoke, Concrete Gray, Mercury, Steel Gray, Mist, Titanium, Charcoal, Slate, Sterling Silver, Tungsten, Old Coin Gray, Iron Gray, Chrome, Magnesium, Overcast

MIXED Candy Cane (red and white), Zebra (black and white), Chameleon (many different colours), Ladybug (black and red), Wildfire (yellow, orange and red), Tiger (orange, black and white), Yellow Jacket (black and yellow), Christmas Lights (red, white and green), Rainbow (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet), Black Pepper (black and gray), Leopard (spotted gold and black), Creamsicle (orange and white), Candy Corn (orange and white), Iceberg (a bluish gray), Marbled

COLOURS: Symbolisms, Associations & Psychological Effects

Black. Especially in Gothic literature from the West, a black colour choice often represents death, evil, grief, and depression. Associated with fear, the unknown and often has a negative connotation. Black clothes can make you look thinner. A black background severely diminishes the readability of most type. Often the go to colour for funerals and grieving. It symbolizes stability and power, which gives a sense of authority. Thus, the black colour often represents professionalism and expertise.

Blue. Has positive and negative connotations in colour psychology. Some writers may use blue to represent serenity and tranquility, instilling a scene with a calming effect. Blue can also signify sadness, melancholy, or isolation. People who find someone very loyal and faithful are often called "true blue". Blue is often considered to be more masculine which is why it is often the colour of choice when choosing a suit. Lighter blues are associated with tranquility, softness and healing. Darker blues are associated with power, knowledge and seriousness. Blue is actually shown to suppress appetites a bit. The colour blue symbolizes wisdom and hope. It’s the colour of peace and confidence. Blue has been shown to reduce blood pressure and pulse rate. It fosters serenity and a sense of belonging.

Green. The colour green often symbolizes rebirth, growth, peace, jealousy, and greed. Green colours may also represent spring and renewal. It is a colour that is very easy on the eyes. Dark green is often associated with ambition. Green suggests stability, safety and hope. At the same time, it may denote a lack of experience in a particular field. Green symbolizes peace, growth, and nature. It is the colour of success, promoting healing and tranquility.

Orange. The colour orange often represents energy, excitement, joy, and creativity. Since orange is the colour of fire, it may also symbolize heat. Since orange is not as aggressive as red, it can actually stimulate brain activity. It is very useful to catch someone's attention, which is why it's used a lot to advertise food and toys.

Pink. The colour pink symbolizes love, kindness, femininity, innocence, and playfulness. Certain shades of pink can limit aggression. Pink may be associated with unconditional love and caring.

Purple. Often associated with royalty, the colour purple symbolizes bravery, spirituality, and luxury. Light purple usually brings up romantic or nostalgic feelings; while a darker shade can make you feel gloomy or sad.

Red. The colour red symbolizes some of the most powerful human emotions, like passionate love or lust. On the other side of the spectrum, this warm colour is also the colour of blood, often symbolizing anger, danger, and violence. It stimulates the appetite. Red is an emotionally intense colour associated with energy, danger, anger, passion and determination. The symbolic meaning associated with the colour red is passion, excitement, and love. It’s the colour of urgency, power, and desire. Red is said to boost hunger and is believed to inspire confidence and excitement. This colour has also been found to increase blood pressure and heart rate.

White. This primary colour traditionally symbolizes innocence, peace, and cleanliness. In Western cultures, the colour white also represents purity and virginity, while it symbolizes mourning in some East Asian cultures. Usually has positive connotations when used and thought of as safe. Associated a lot with healing, simplicity and sterility, which is why it's used in hospitals and healing centers as much as it is. The symbolic meaning of the colour white is truth and sometimes even indifference. It encourages feelings of safety and cleanliness. Clean, white clothes and linens show sterility since stains are easily visible. That’s why doctors and nurses frequently wear white lab coats and scrubs.

Yellow. Writers may use the colour yellow to symbolize creativity, happiness, optimism, and warmth—think of a yellow ray of sunlight poking out from a dark cloud. A common negative connotation of the color yellow is cowardice, popularized by the phrase “yellow-bellied.” Warming effect which stimulates body and mind. Gold is associated with the highest of luxury. When bright yellow is used with black it's one of the easiest colour combinations to see from long distances; when uses with lighter colours it's not so easy to see. Yellow ribbons are worn as a symbol of hope and used quite often to welcome home loved ones. Yellow is the colour of warmth, kindness, and happiness. It’s often associated with optimism and well-being and promotes energy.

Brown. This warm, earthy brown colour may symbolize dependability, comfort, and a sense of being grounded. Brown is also a neutral colour, and writers may use it to represent dullness and predictability. Brown is a colour that is related to very grounded traits such as simplicity, practicality, common sense and hard work. Can also be associated with those that are frugal and not too flashy.

Gray. Lighter grays are often thought of as more feminine while darker grays more masculine. Gray is considered by many to be a neutral colour; the perfect balance between light and dark / good and evil. Pop up the lighter grays and add a little shine to it, and thought immediately turns to silver, which correlates to wealth.

Sources & related articles: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ On Colours

If these writing notes helped with your poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I'd love to read them! Writing Resources PDFs

[nikosaki]

“I want to use specific names for colours/shades but I don’t know many!” Hahaha sakira has got you! If you want to add colour to the objects or stuff in your writing you shouldn’t just write it like this

“Her dress was red” “His eyes were purple”

That makes your writing bland, it dumbs down the readers imagination during reading. Instead describe the colour like this

“Her dress was like a cup of Rooibos tea under a sunlit day”

“His eyes could be compared to that of a raven’s deep violet eyes”

(tip: amethyst is an overused word, there’s a list of other purple words below you should check out)

You can describe colours using objects because it will give shape to the sentence but don’t always go too detailed. If you make one sentence with a lot of adjectives and everything then don’t over use it in the other sentence that’s is.

But remember to use a simile like “as” or “like” if you do use objects.

I already wrote “Her dress was like a cup of Rooibos tea under a sunlit day” so next time when I mention the dress’s colour again I am going to write something like this

“Her garnet dress flowed in the wind”

Why? Because simple sentenced always enchance the writing and gives reader a feeling.

now that we are done with how to write colours let’s see some synonyms!!

white- bleached , colourless , pearly , milky , snowy, ivory , salt , Lacey , linen , frosty, daisy parchment , porcelain, cotton , rice bone

black- ebony, midnight, jade , spider , coal , pitch black, void , empty, sooty , obsidian , metal, onyx , ink , crow

grey- shadow, ash , graphite , foggy, dove , silver , dull, cloud ,slate, iron, smoke, pebble

red- garnet, blush , Merlot , cherry , crimson, rose, sangria, bloody, berry , currant, terracotta, jam , merlot

orange- tangerine , ginger , apricot, autumn , spice , amber, rust, marmalade, pumpkin , carrot , clay, golden , copper , ochre

yellow- gold, canary , light , butterscotches, dandelion, honey , blonde, corn, saffron , ocher, buttermilk

green- beryl , viridescent , olive , emerald , pickle, leafy , sage , lime , pear , mint, mignonette, glaucous

blue- ocean , aqua , cobalt, navy , sapphire, admiral, denim , cerulean, indigo , lapis , peacock, aegean, azure , turquoise, cyan , arctic

purple - amethyst , raven , violet ,lilac , lavender, plum , magenta ,orchid , mulberry, heather, raisin, amaranthine , eggplant , iris , periwinkle

pink- blush , cherry blossom , taffy , peach, flamingo , rosey , salmon , fuscia, rosewood , pale red

IMPORTANT : remember to do GOOD research on shades!! You need to know which one you can use as an adjective and which one is a noun. If it’s a noun turn it into adjective, if it cannot be turned into an adjective then use a simile.

There’s more and if you know put it in the reblogs

[odegoob]

tagged by @snoopyfc ✨️ thank you!

last song? went to karaoke yesterday and we finished on mr brightside

fav colour? blue + green 💙💚

last tv show? abbott elementary

last movie? john wick 4

last book? last one I finished was jocasta's children by natalie haynes

fav flavour? stonefruits generally! peach, plum etc.

tea or coffee? tea

currently working on? trip planning!

relationship status? free

last thing i googled? the score for my local team's footy match

looking forward to? my next trip!

current obsession? naps. I've had so many fucking naps lately its incredible

no pressure tags: @egyptian-chaos @inacommitedrelationshipwithfood @stina-ballerina @silliestsoldierfc @agoonerz 🌸🐇

[spellsparkler]

N for Elias!!

N: The colour green.

Eli finds Shadowheart tucked away in the shade beneath those squat, crumbling rock faces, bushes crawling from cracks in the cliffs, shielded by the shrubbery from the campsite proper. Here, the talking in the clearing blends into an indiscernible slurry of sound, easy enough to pack away; Shadowheart is silent, on her knees with her feet tucked under her skirt, hands clasped into a palmless amalgamation of pale knuckles. (She has always had interesting hands; narrow-fingered, with careful-placed calluses, and a ragged little sore like a needle-nick or a cigar burn dug out of the place where the basilic vein splits into branches. They’re not like Eli’s hands, long and double-jointed and satin-soft. Eli likes them.) Her fringe is a sharp black line against her forehead. Her head is bowed. What little sun creeps over the steep rock slope catches on the delicate chains woven around her hair, and they shine so starkly it stings Eli’s eyes.

Eli sets herself down in the grass, cross-legged and dew-brushed, and, picking at the tough fabric of her trousers, she settles in to wait.

She doesn’t mind waiting; it’s easy. It’s nice to stay still, and it’s nice to stay quiet, and it’s nice to have time to press her snarling headache back into the recesses of her skull, with mixed success. She watches Shadowheart, her shaded face, the motion of it. Her lips are moving but she’s not speaking. Her eyes are closed. Her lashes, sooty dark, fan over her cheeks; there are purple-blue veins visible in her eyelids. Eli tucks her own heels under her weight, and she clasps her own hands so that she won’t keep pinching at the pants – the stretch of dark green ribbon wending itself between her fingers trails off into the air, its fraying end brushing her wrist. Her wrist which is bared, the too-short sleeves of her shirt peeling away from it every time she shifts her shoulders.

It’s new, the shirt, the trousers, the belt, the shoes. It’s almost a shame, because she liked the robe; its head-achingly vivid colour, like the fragile skin of a ripe plum; that inexplicable stretch of leather at the collar, red as the tender flesh you’d find biting in. She liked the weight of it, the protective padding about the torso, the hardy texture of the worsted purple weave. The stitches, neat and small and strong. The pointed metallic clasps, which she could press the pads of her fingers to and watch the indents they make in her skin even out. But the robe isn’t hers; it belongs to the wizard with purple fingers and purple-bruised eyes, and he seemed so dreadfully unready without it. His shirtsleeves are thin and stained, and she thinks he missed the robe’s wide hidden pockets.

She had to return it. But there was nothing else to wear – they showed her the clothes they found her in, the pale dress, stained brown with old blood and yellow with old bile, fabric hanging off in great ragged ribbons. Pale like peach flesh. Pale like murky water. It smelled sad and sick and one sleeve was missing altogether; all torn into some new, unwearable shape.  The ribbon laced up the remaining sleeve was salvageable, the rest too ruined even for scrap. She pulled that ribbon carefully free, and now wraps it tautly around her index finger, as many times as it will fit.

There was the dress and the robe and she couldn’t wear either, so this morning – the dawn of her second day of coherence, surprising all of them a little that yesterday wasn’t a lovely and improbable fluke – Wyll with his red leathers and the silver woman and the paper-pale elf had gone back to the place that she still doesn’t quite remember, the one with other people and creaking floors and – a wolf, she thinks, or something with teeth – to barter for something more practical. Eli didn’t go with them. Astarion says that last time she was there she threatened someone with a poisonous stick, and he thinks this is dreadfully funny but there is some doubt anyone else will agree. (She’s never yet been able to conjure up the memory of the stick thing; she tries, but it’s all mixed up, overlaid by the echo of blood in the dirt and blood in her hair and her knee pressing down on someone’s stomach, someone taking her knife away.)

 They got her clothes. They would have got her armour, only they all have maybe ten gold if they pool it together and no-one sells plate that cheap. So: shirt, trousers, belt, shoes. The shoes are inoffensive. She does like the belt – plain leather, but with loops for scabbards and frogs, straps enough to manage without either. She’s tucked both blades into them, the rough-edged scimitar and the straight silvered knife, and their weight at her hips evens her gate and steadies her hands. She doesn’t have to put them down every time she wants to do something, now; they get to stay always in reach.

The trousers are dark and durable and a little scratchy; rough against the soft skin on the backs of her knees, unevenly hemmed, ill-fitting at the waist. When she bends her legs the cloth creases unbearably. She likes the fabric of the shirt better. The drape is uninspiring. Both could do with some decorative detailing, a less economical cut, a long soak in a fresh dye pot. At the very least, some darts put in, some of the seams split and resewn – the stitching is too wide, some places, and it might not hold without reinforcement.

She is not ungrateful. But the wreckage of her dress looks like it might, once, have been pretty. She thinks she would like to wear pretty things again.

She pulls the ribbon tight around her finger until it begins to redden and ache; then she unwinds it, lets the satin drape over her knuckles, whispering smooth and snakelike. It’s green, like the leaves of choking vines, like she imagines the ocean might be; she likes it. So many colours are drab, and most of the rest seems so gaudy it hurts to look at. Most things hurt to look at. The headache squirms, unasked, against the right side of her skull; she can feel it like the scrape of fingernail. Scratching away at her from the inside out.

The clothes are easier to move in than the robe was, at least; so sweating heavy, so plush, with the unhelpful  wide gap in the skirt. When they came back from the little not-town the white one with thin, pallid veins said Sorry they’re so drab, Elias, I was advocating for something that showed a bit more leg and Gale said Don’t make fun of her, Astarion, it was a dearth of options, not a stylistic choice, and Elias said serenely, I do have good legs. In the robe every step flashed a great length of bloodless thigh. She didn’t mind. She couldn’t afford to mind it even if she’d wanted to – there’s the lost-in-the-forest issue, and there’s the slugs-in-their-brains issue, and there’s the catastrophic-brain-damage issue, and it’s all rather too much to bother being prim.

Astarion said See and yelled over his shoulder I told you, and Wyll had stopped and said Oh, you look lovely, Elias, I’m glad they fit.

She curls the ribbon around her wrist and tucks the fraying end in neatly. They keep calling her that, the last in a long meandering trail of name guesses, a game they’ve kept going since before she woke up yesterday and things started to make sense; Elinor, Eliezer, Delilah, Angeline. They said Elias, and she liked it – the long smooth vowels, the sibilants, the taste of it in the mouth, like a cold smooth pebble held under the tongue – and she said so, and they haven’t stopped since. (It doesn’t feel like her name – not more than Eli did, not more than any other name or word they dragged up – Cymbeline, Dandelion, Elixir – but she doesn’t mind; they can call her what they like.)

(She learned, sometime in yesterday’s dusk, that the man in red leathers is called The Blade, and she’d wanted a name like that, and Shadowheart said no. Astarion said, mm, I imagine that’s a bit out there for Shadowheart’s tastes, and though Eli couldn’t see her face she knew that Shadowheart was looking at him like she wanted to hit him and wouldn’t, and then time skipped and spasmed quite terribly and she’d gone to lie down.)

But Shadowheart isn't angry now, and Elias' headache isn't tugging like a dog struggling against its lead, like it's grasping around for a loose thread to pull until the wet, uneven web of her brain unravels entirely. They're both just sitting, Shadowheart’s quiet murmuring lost to the blur of background noise, the river and the birds and the rustling leaves all melding into something unfamiliar and impenetrable; Eli toys with the length of ribbon, wary of the fraying at its sheared-off edge, and she carefully doesn't pluck at her cuffs or her trousers, and she enjoys the simple pleasure of watching. It still feels like something of a novelty, to look and to know so immediately what she's looking at; to see not just light and shadow, a splotch of grey and grey and grey in marbled grain, but to know it as a rock of discernable height and dimension. It still feels like a novelty, and yet she cannot fathom having ever lived without it. What inconstant memories she can reach from those early few days seem chimeric, and very, very far away.

(There must have been something before that – before the blood and the bile, before the strange, singular journey through that meat-made-ship – but if there was, she can't find it. Everything begins at the same point, headache and confusion, feet on glass, hands gloved with gore, and there is no echo of anything beyond it.)

She winds the ribbon around the base of her thumb, as stark as the flurry of veins that slip through her wrist, and she lets it go again. Her hair is in her face, daffodil-bright streaks in her eyes. The sun is high enough over the rocky outcropping that the reflection of it on the satin leaves white-hot smudges on her retinas.

The ribbon unwinds. Shadowheart raises her head. The sharp crescent-points of her circlet press grooves into her fringe. She looks pink, pale, calm; Eli watches her stretch out her arms, the hinges of her elbows, the careful roll of her shoulders, until eventually she glances over, a shallow divot tucked between her brows.

“Hm,” she says. “It’s better than the robe.”

“I liked the robe.” Eli’s hands press flat onto her knees, ribbon trailing off into the grass, darkening where it drags against the remains of the dew. “What were you doing?”

Shadowheart bends her fingers back until they click. “Praying.”

“Why?”

A pause; the forest-noise is very loud, for a moment, but she can’t pick out what made the change. It quiets itself again. Shadowheart flexes the fingers on her other hand. That little dip between her brows is still there, just above the seam where the frontal bone would meet the nasal. The bone there is thick and tough. Pressing through is inordinately difficult. “I pray twice a day, as a rule,” Shadowheart says; her face smooths out, then, the divot disappearing. “And,” she adds lightly, “if ever there was a time to ask for my god’s aid, don’t you think it would be now?”

Twice a day; the quiet of it, the stillness. A peaceful moment to talk to god. “And they listen?” Elias asks, with interest. Her hands tighten at her knees, pulling the cloth clumsily into fists.

Shadowheart rolls one shoulder and says, “Sometimes.”

Eli tips her head, the ache shifting with it like water. Pain settles somewhere not far from her ear, reaches, sprawling, towards her eyes, the hard plane of her forehead. Her hair, the yellow of gilt or of dandelions, shivers over her face. “Why?” she asks; Shadowheart looks clear-cut and smooth against the stone, all stark lines and patient mouth, and she is trying to envision what her god would look like – something smooth and cool, like a pebble in water, something serene – but it makes her feel like setting her teeth against the twitching muscle of her tongue and biting down. Blood in the mouth, pooling, iron-rich, spat against white porcelain, into the dirt, so she won’t choke on it. She asks, “What proof is there in prattle?”

“Don’t rip those,” Shadowheart tells her, eyes flicking down. “They’re new.”

“They’re hideous,” her mouth complains. She looks down at her lap, at her hands, pallid and angular, twisting the stretched cloth of the trousers into knots. She flattens them, sets them back on her rumpled knees, ribbon shining where it’s tucked between her fingers.

“I’ve seen worse,” Shadowheart says. “Did you want something?”

For a moment, the words slip; Eli has to stretch to reach them, and she feels spread-out, wound tight enough to snap, all her soft red innards a single synapse set alight. “My hair,” she says, after a moment of fumbling, and the feeling goes away. “Would you plait it for me? My hands don’t know how, and you do yours so prettily.”

She puts it up every morning and takes it down every night; Eli watched, yesterday, in the strange early fascination of being able to watch anything at all; watched the flat shining curtain of her hair gleam under the comb, the motion of her hands as she pulled it up high and twisted it into a rope, fine little chains woven through the partitions as if for grip or for strength. The way she tucked the ends back up into the braid. She’d followed the movements closely, but she cannot replicate them.

She tried; she tried until the ineptitude of the hands tangled in her hair began to make her cross, and Elias is not one for getting cross. She can’t see with hair in her eyes, dusting the world with gold leaf; it is hard enough, at times, to see without it. She must know how to get it away from her face, because she would have needed to know at some point in the missing time; it’s long enough, would have taken such a time to grow out, that she must have. But whenever she tried she got confused; couldn’t distinguish between the strands, or recall what needed to be done next, until it was all so tightly knotted around her fingers that her head screamed when she pulled them free. If she could see, she thinks, it would have been easier. It was the angle that made it difficult. But slicing the soft tissue from the skull – the red-grey peel of skin and muscle – so that she can move her scalp with hair attached in front of her seems more trouble than it’s worth.

Shadowheart’s gaze flickers over her hair, the ends resting in her lap, the pieces falling in her face again. “All right,” she says, and moves to kneel behind her.

It’s a funny feeling, Eli decides; hands in her hair, a comb slipping through it, while she just sits there, lamblike. It’s like carding fleece. It pulls a little on her scalp, sometimes, and her headache prickles at it, slinks sullenly behind her eyes and collects like tar behind the bridge of her nose. She winds the ribbon around and around and around her fingers, one by one, until they begin to blanche and sting, and still it is not enough; she wants to reach out and find something to properly hold onto, but there’s only Shadowheart, and she’s tucked away behind her with her arms all in motion. There’s hair fanned out over her eyes, thin and uneven and yellow-bright, tinting the blue of the sky. The shadow of the rock looms. Eli looks at them, and their shapes, and revels in knowing them as best she can. She ties the ribbon in a sequence of tight, evenly-spaced knots, and then she picks them loose. Something darts through the air above her, lightning-quick. She assumes it’s a bird, but it passed so quickly she can’t feel quite sure.

“Tilt your head back,” Shadowheart says, quietly enough it’s a little hard to make out through the forest noise, “I need to get your hair out of your face,” and Eli does as she’s told; lets the weight of her skull fall backwards until the length of skin that joins her throat to her mandible strains with it, the neat tower of her vertebrae folding to accommodate it. Her neck is made a long, pale line. Shadowheart blinks, once, shifting back; her mouth quirks. From this angle Eli can see the soft jut of her cheekbones and a good bit into her nose.

“It does get in my eyes,” she says.

Shadowheart smiles, a little. “That’s why I’ve got the fringe,” she says, which seems to Elias eminently sensible. There is a freckle just under her lip, pinpoint-small. It’s more visible when her smile drops. She leans in a little closer, and she asks, “How is your vision?”

It’s a non-sequitur if ever there’s been one. (Seeing was never an issue; Shadowheart knows that. The problem isn’t registering shape and colour and sound and gesture, it’s squeezing meaning from them. Like bleeding a stone.) Eli blinks, slowly, against the blue of the sky and the pink of the skin. She can see the blurred edge of her own lashes, if she pays attention. She asks, “Why?”

“I should have asked you yesterday,” Shadowheart says, which isn’t an answer. Eli can feel her breath where it rolls across her forehead. It’s warm. 

Eli repeats, “Why?”

Shadowheart says, “Would you mind if I looked at your eyes for a moment?” which isn’t an answer.

Eli considers this. “Only if I can look at yours,” she replies. Shadowheart’s eyes are pale and limned with red, bracketed by the neat curves of the socket. Soft and trembling and the right size and shape to hold in the mouth. Eli’s eyes –

She doesn’t know, actually. No-one’s yet managed to find her a mirror. They feel soft, though, and damp; if she presses against the sides too hard they hurt. They’re all hemmed in by bone – nasal, lacrimal, zygomatic – and backed by the nerves her headache so dearly likes to pluck at like an amateur lutenist. She doesn’t think she has any issues seeing; she registers a vague, distant sense of offense at the idea that any part of her body would have any issues at all. Given the headache, the amnesia, and continuing episodes of disorientation, this seems rather unreasonable.

Her head is tilted as far back as she can comfortably reach; her neck, fully extended, is bared. Pale. Lamblike. Her hands are on the pommels of her blades. She’s not sure when she put them there. There are hands on her forehead; coming in across the crown of her head, so there is no wrist reaching past her chin, so there is nothing to bite. Someone is looking at her. She doesn’t mind; what is she sitting here so calmly for but to be looked at?

Shadowheart flicks a finger and the neat crescent of nail peeking over it is set aglow. She puts it to the very edge of Eli’s eye socket, and Eli blinks, and she watches the blistering afterimages appear where the light has traced in her peripheral. She says, “You’re checking my pupillary response?”

“Mm,” Shadowheart says, which still isn’t an answer, and the light burns merrily away at the edge of her vision. Shadowheart’s plait is falling down over her shoulder; the scalpel-sharp shine of her cantrip gleams on the weave of its chains. She shifts, holds up a hand against the sky above Eli’s face, three fingers curled down and middle and index pressed neatly together. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two.” Eli catches her hand before she can put it down again, wraps fingers loosely around the wrist until it all droops like an old bouquet. She says, “My vision is fine.”

Shadowheart looks down at her, pale-eyed, skin dimpling where it’s folded under her chin, plait tucked over her shoulder. Her brows are furrowed, neat and black and peeved. “What’s my name?” she asks. It is the second time she has asked it this morning, and the tenth Eli can remember in total.

“Shadowheart,” she says patiently.

Shadowheart neatly extracts her hand from Eli’s grip and asks, “What’s yours?”

That one has been asked a lot also, but it’s always harder; she stretches her spine, bends a little further back, the crown of her head meeting the cold metal of Shadowheart’s breastplate. “You call me Eli.” A pause, scrounging for the other names. “Wyll calls me Elias. The… Astarion calls me a lot of things.” All drawn from three letters stitched into the torn back of the dress they found her in; she looked at the collar, she found the embroidery, but she could barely make sense of the lettering, much less trace what else might have been sewn around it. She doesn’t mind. Three letters seem like name enough.

The little dip has dug itself quite firmly into place between Shadowheart’s brows. Eli blinks against the light. Patiently, she says, “We met a few days ago, on the meat-ship. We’re camping in a forest off the Chionthar. There are parasitic larva nested in our brains. We are trying to get them out. I’m perfectly lucid, Shadowheart.”

“Hm,” Shadowheart says. She does so like her evasive little nothing-responses.

Eli cranes her head back a little further and repeats, “Shadowheart.”

“Your neck is very hypermobile,” Shadowheart observes. There is a slight, dubious sort of edge to the set of her mouth. She is unconvinced; she has remained unconvinced for all the time that Eli remembers knowing her, of her illness and her wellness both. Eli understands. Her injury presents deeply atypically; her recovery pattern is unheard of. They all have maggots in their heads, though, and she can hold the thread of time so that it feels like night follows afternoon follows morning instead of everything surprising her all at once. Eli has retained a handful of idioms and one of them relates to horses and mouths.

She asks lightly, “Is there something wrong with my eyes?” and Shadowheart’s lit-up finger swipes across her cheekbone.

“Nothing new, no,” she says. “Sit up, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

There are several things wrong with Shadowheart’s eyes.

Eli holds her wrist still so she doesn’t dismiss her little light; she can’t go behind her, because Shadowheart can’t look as far back as she can, so she turns around where she is with her rumpled trouser-knees in the dirt and tilts her head back with careful hands. Shadowheart’s plait drapes over her shoulder, the black of it very stark against her bare neck. Her skin is so pale that the shadows are easy to make out – where the tissue stretches over cartilage and the straight line of ligaments, the bruise-blue locations of the veins. She is a little resistant when Eli moves her head back. Good.

Her eyes are light, watchful. Her sclera is rimmed a sleepless red. The left eye is faintly bruised, the skin around it swollen soft; when Eli presses the pad of a finger against it she hisses.

“Your eye is contused,” Eli says. The ribbon tucked between her fingers is trailing over Shadowheart’s face; she peels her hand back so she can wind it around her wrist, out of the way.

Shadowheart’s eyes follow the motion of her hands. “Almost everyone had that,” she replies. “Swelling, discolouration. We think it’s a reaction to the parasite.” A shudder, ever-so-slight.

Eli presses her finger back to the squishy, malleable tissue over the bone of the socket. “Ocular insertion?”

“Yes.”

It’s a shame that she doesn’t remember it. “My eyes aren’t swollen,” Eli says.

Shadowheart says, “No, they aren’t.”

Eli takes her hand again; presses the glowing tip of her finger to the outer edge of the inflamed eye, wraps her other hand around the smooth black plait to hold them both still. Shadowheart’s hair is neat and lank. The little chains spiralling around it make it much easier to grip. She blinks against the glare, so that Eli can see all the purple veins in her eylids; when she holds her eye open, the light is bright enough that Eli can almost see through, make out the whole perfect shape of it; the iris, the contracting pupil, pinhead-small, and past it the back of the eye, the gentle curve of the globe, seen through chambers of vitreous humour, and past that –

Eli looks closer, careful, at the shape of the eye set sweet and precious as ruby within the red-marrowed skull, and at the shadow behind it. The head is still; the chains of the plait biting into her palm. If she pulled the head back, held it, kept the throat exposed, like this, it would be so very easy to carve through it. Cut around the mess of the cartilage-wrapped windpipe. Shadowheart should wear a gorget; Eli’s told her so. 

“I can see it,” Eli’s mouth says, eager. “I can see it. The maggot. The worm.”

Shadowheart says, “You’re pulling my hair.”

The chains, cold and hard against her hand, aid her grip. The plait is so very pretty. If Eli pulled it and kept pulling it, and kept pulling it, and kept pulling it, she wonders what would happen first – the tearing of the hair from the scalp, the slow snapping of the cervical vertebrae. Shadowheart can’t fold her neck back as far as Eli can. Shadowheart can’t do anything at all.

“I can see it,” she repeats. The braid is twining itself around her fingers. “Could you see mine?”

Shadowheart says, steely, “Let go.”

Her chin tips a little further up. “Could you?” the mouth demands, bright and bitten and cold in the sun, and Shadowheart pulls at the hand still pressed to her own cheek.

“Oh, hell,” says Shadowheart, and then, “Eli. Are you listening to me?” and then, “I said let go, Elias.”

A blink.

One by one, Elias peels her fingers back. The braid slithers out of her hand. Shadowheart pulls it back over her shoulder, so that it’s hanging straight down her back.

Elias asks, “Could you?”

Shadowheart looks at her. Her eyes are creased now at the edges; her brows are furrowed flat. “No,” she says. “I didn’t see anything like that.”

The ribbon is unwinding from around Elias’ wrist.

“Hm,” she says. “Shame. Your eyes are green.”

“They are,” says Shadowheart.

Elias asks, “What are mine?”

A bird sings somewhere, loud enough to cut over the rest of the noise; she’s very pleased at herself for recognising it. Hair is all in her face again, tinting everything buttercup gold, like strange cheap sunlight.

“They’re green as well,” Shadowheart says. She’s quite gentle about it. “They’re darker. A little like that ribbon.”

Elias considers this – weighs it in hand – does not find it very meaningful. It is hard, right now, to even believe that she has a face. She thinks it will take finding a mirror to really understand it.

“Thank you,” she says anyway, all politeness, and she drapes the ribbon over Shadowheart’s knee, sits again in the dew-damp grass, waiting.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Happy Halloween! What are all the Wukongs and macaques being/ doing?

Happy halloween too! Sorry Im a little late!

If we're imagining Halloween is going down in one of the modern day verses, then you know theres gonna be a few very confused monkeys.

Either of the LMK SWKs & LEMs have to be the ones to explain why the city suddenly looks so... Underworld-esque to the ones from earlier eras. Peach & Dawn are transforming themselves so that they can go trick or treating with the kids, while Plum & Dusk are making late-minute costume changes and indulging in the vino and party foods.

Dasheng is confused, but ends up being dragged along (not very reluctantly) when the kids gets uber excited by the idea of candy and mischief. Luier steps out of the clothing room dressed as The Monkey King and Dasheng cries with pride/at the adorableness. Zhanshi gets really into dressing up for the holiday as well, and makes a very... distracting Morticia Addams. Lets just say it took the strength of multiple gods for Dasheng not to whisk his LEM away from prying eyes. Dasheng def demands a "dad tax" on any candy gathered.

Smokey equally has no idea whats going on, but is def enjoying the toilet paper graffiti and trickery. Probably convinces Xiao Qi and the rest of the kids to dress in identical costumes to freak people out. Liang already dresses like a mage, so he gets confused for being in costume as well. Liang was supposed to dicipline Smokey for directing the kiddos to scare others. But then the two adults end up collaborating on a "Karma Scare" after they get a house with extrememly rude drunk people inside. The Reborn! Pilgrims should have known that havoc was afoot when the fruitiedads asked them to take over chaperoning "just for a bit." >:)

Cherry and Olive are at a halloween fair just demolishing the different game stalls, bobbing for apples, getting freaked out in the scare house, and trying out the rides for the very first time. Both are so hyped up on adrenaline and sugar the whole night that they crash the second they get back to their own dimension.

Ace and Joker are inside multiple halloween parties, tearing up the dance floor and getting hammered. Ace is wearing his fancy mask and everything. Probably still partying past midnight before the other monkeys have to do post-holiday recon.

Shihou and Mihou hear "free sweets" and are immediately on board for trick-or-treating. It take them a minute to understand; "we gotta dress like... other things?" before they jump into the costume closet. Shihou decides that he wants to be Thor, cus he looks cool. Mihou panics at the amount of options available and decides to dress like cowgirl Barbie (cus pink is his fave colour). Many candies are had, though the two aren't actually sure what the "trick" part of "trick or treat" means, so at a few houses they ask specifically for "tricks" before the LMK kids explain it to them. They spend the later half of the night with the other verses kids eating candy and watching scary pg movies with MK as supervision.

Sugar and Spice are probably at the fairground too since it's easier for them to hide in a crowd. Sugar submits himself into a costume contest and gets 2nd place (he lost to a kid wearing another Monkey King costume). Spice gets a little overwhelmed after half an hour, so he and Sugar space out on a roof top the rest of the evening. They def have a pillowcase of modern candy they hide from the other pilgrims when they get back to their universe.

Lilac is trying to follow a multi-step halloween costume makeup tutorial, when Starfruit tries filming a prank video. Both acts are ruined when Starfruit tries scaring Lilac, sees the half-finished gory makeup, and gets so scared that he faints. Both spends the rest of the holiday watching tv with some takeout.

By the end of it, at least one monkey is in jail; Smokey and Liang for their super scare, or Ace and Joker for public intoxication, or Cherry and Olive for damaging public property at the fairgrounds ("Bumper cars got a bit out of hand"). The LMK monkeys + two of the Tripitakas had to bail them out.

[field-o-dandelions]

Wii/3DS/Wii U Era Games that make me go absolutely FERAL

welcome back to the second part! yeah, apparently one post only allows so many pictures, so it's time for part two!

3DS

Luigi Haters DNI: Mario and Luigi Dream Team

as we've already established, i was horrible at rpgs when i was younger. i still remember excitedly explaining to people at school that i managed to die in a boss fight despite the fact that the boss didn't attack, and how happy i was that that allowed me to active "easy mode". yet, i also wasn't that invested in the story either, still believing that peach was kidnapped for half of the game where she wasn't.

i've replayed this game quite a bit since then, even though oddly i've never actually defeated the final boss. still, i definitely get why i used to like the game beforehand too...

you can call me shallow all you want, but you can't change that game pretty. me like.

also the music goes hard.

I Forgot About This Until I Finished the Final Entry: Luigi's Mansion 2

ah, good ol' luigi's mansion. once again, great vibes. got some spooky ones too! every world is a whole new experience, with the bosses even feeling completely different. one's a puzzle, one's a battle for survival and one's a shooter!

also polterpup. i really like polterpup.

Getting Cancelled Any%: Paper Mario Sticker Star

listen, okay. we as a society have to move past comparing every bad game to fucking paper mario sticker star released in the year of our lord 2012. there's beating dead horses and then there's beating up cheap oven lasagna that contains meat of questionable origin (it's. it's the horse).

let's aknowledge that this game did GOOD things. the soundtrack's great! the worlds might be generic, but they're still pretty fun for what they are! the paper artstyle is charming, as per usual. i had a fun time playing it when i was like 10 and already knew all of the solutions from a youtuber.

speaking of youtubers, mayro did another great series on this game rewritten by an incompetent, outdated ai (don't worry, this one isn't owned by huge tech firms trying to replace employees with faulty machines for capitalism)

also content warning for like. all of it. the kehehan plot still drives me insane.

Wii U

this is it, the home stretch! there's only around three more games i still want to talk about, and then some honorable mentions.

Best Multiplayer Game Ever: Super Mario 3D World

technically not exclusively multiplayer, but i always played it with my family on the wii u. even though they were forced to use wii remotes with only four movement directions for this 3d game. sorry.

but yeah, take all my praise for 3d land and triple it. this game? absolute peak. the soundtrack is mesmerizing, the mechanics are fun, the worlds are beautiful, hell, i even made pixel art of world 5!

featuring my void entity self insert! don't- don't worry about it

Hey, remember that Kirby game from earlier in the list: Yoshi's Woolly World

it. it has the fucking yarn aesthetic. i own all of the yoshi yarn amiibos. i really fucking love crafting materials in games can you tell.

also my family loves this game. and the music slaps.

I timetraveled in ACNH after like five months for this: Paper Mario Colour Splash

what if i told you that this game MASTERED the cardboard artstyle. what if i told you that every single location in this game is unique and perfect. what if i told you that i used to download pictures of this game onto my tablet to look at and feel happy about. what if i told i immediately wanted this game the moment an ad for it played on tv. what if i told you i found out that the manual of this game was funny and held a live presentation on it in my room after watching disney's frozen. what if i told you that even now, at the ripe age of SEVENTEEN as opposed to TEN I recreated plum park from this game in animal crossing for my fruity villager lopez to live in.

i had to timetravel for this screenshot and also look for a cute outfit only for the straight squirrel to enter my house seconds later. and yet i regret NOTHING.

Honorable Mentions

Fun, but not vividly remembered:

Skyward Sword

Ocarina of Time for the 3DS

Mario and Luigi Paper Jam

Wind Waker for the Wii U

Fun, but came out/played too late for the nostalgia factor:

Mario and Luigi Bowser's Inside Story

Paper Mario Origami King

Luigi's Mansion 3

That's all! Ty for reading all my yapping <3

[ittybittysugarplum]

🎁 A gift has been sent! 🎁

There is a small box, wrapped in violet paper, and tied with a deep blue ribbon - mostly for aesthetic purposes. (Contains: a recording of a musical - in the form of a CD - made down in Hell. The plot is bit gruesome, and the character death is showed through the actors actually dying. A small note has been stuck to the casing of the CD - 'The dance choreography has more thought put into than the entire plot-line, and I thought you might take an interest.' )

Alongside this is a bouquet of flowers, and a letter. The flowers ranged in many different colours and shapes - Hell wasn't Earth and the plants weren't exactly the same. A few looked a bit like nightshades - though probably not poisonous, its purples braided around the stems of sunflower-lookalikes, their petals bleached into an ivory hue.

Small, decorative things that looked sort of like lavender, if lavender was peach in colour, threaded around the actual wrapping-thing itself.

Finally, the letter. Plain and simple on the outside, not so much on the inside...

'Dear Plum,

I have placed an invitation to a popular *non-cannibalistic, I wasn't sure of your palette so just to be safe*, restaurant I would like to take you to in this envelope.

By no means do you need to accept, although if you do, I have left my phone number below.

Even if you do not wish to go there with me, any food you get from there (for the first time only) will be paid for by myself. Do not feel like you have to go with me to get a meal. I promise you, should you say no, you will not be charged in any way.

I wish you a lovely day.

- Vox '

🔇i know nothint about flowers, i researched so quickly, im in the middle of cooking so this will have to do. @vox-no-longer-a-box-tek 🔇

*Plum discreetly brings the gift box up to her room in the hotel, just to avoid any questioning, before opening it, taking out the flowers and CD first. She talks to herself as she does*

“Oh my goodness-! I didn’t know Hell had such beautiful flowers… Are these from Vox? Surely not…”

*but she reads the note about the musical and opens the letter, breaking out into a smile as she reads the invitation. She excitedly grabs her phone to dial Vox’s number*

“I just have to call him…!”

[fruit-salad-ship]

does Peach ever figure out where her face blindness comes from and try to get it fixed? I ask cause I thought of a cute scene where she does and she truly gets to see the loves of her live Plum and Grey.

Oh she fully knows where it came from, has done the whole time, and is VERY aware of what went wrong when it happened. Fixing it however may prove difficult, perhaps it’s possible. Right Pokemon, right tools, right skills, could be fixed, but it is a fundamental mistake in her brains wiring now, to fix it would take nothing short of a wish from a very powerful Pokemon, and if peach had that wish? She wouldn’t use it for her own gain.

But if someone else got that wish, maybe it could happen. She luckily can never truly forget her duo, they make up so many moments in her day, through touch, through smell, through sound, taste, she knows them, arguably better than if she could truly see them. She can tell grey from the backs of his hands, from the way he bites his nails, from how he likes woody scents and soft fabrics, how he’s got this big booming laugh you can’t ignore, from the way he squeezes when you hug him. And plum is her because of the perfume she likes to wear, the way she holds herself, how she walks, the pacing is different because she’s got those long legs, and her childhood spent dancing makes her light on her feet, very graceful even when she doesn’t try. She is coffee stains on the sleeve of her shirt, and strawberry lipgloss, and the kind of laugh that you know is up to no good, cheeky.

But god could you imagine the tears that she’d cry being able to actually look at their faces and SEE them, truly see them, as a painter that’s kind of amazing. In hisui she tries to paint them as she remembers and can’t, can’t pick out their faces, it’s just a vague mass of shape and colour, and sure to her that’s them, and she knows they have eyes and noses and mouths, but…it’s never right. She gets so mad about it, asks Val to put some memories in her hear like a playback loop of how the Pokemon sees them, through vals eyes, it’s clear, she can try again thanks to her partner, though the features don’t stick.

A very frustrating situation, especially when she’s so afraid she won’t be able to remember them if she stays for too long, and misses them dearly.

[todaysbug]

December 26th, 2023

Codling Moth (Cydia pomonella)

Distribution: Widespread distribution; likely native to Europe, Asia Minor or the Mediterranean, but found throughout Europe, Asia, Africa, the Americas, Australia and certain Pacific islands.

Habitat: Found in many habitats, with a preference for high humidity (~75%) and temperatures (~32⁰C). Can live both in high altitudes as well as survive temperatures below 0⁰C.

Diet: Polyphagous herbivore; caterpillars feed on fruit, including pear, apple, walnut, apricot, peaches, plums, cherries and chestnuts. Adults feed rarely if at all, but when they do, they feed on sweet fluids such as fruit juice, diluted honey and diluted molasses.

Description: Codling moths are also known as apple worms as caterpillars. The caterpillars are unable to feed off plant leaves, and thus get all their nutrition from fruit. They're considered a major agricultural pest, as they bore inside fruit crops, which causes premature ripening. While adults are fairly inconspicuous, their colour varies depending on their larval diet.

Adult moths have a very good sense of smell, with the ability to smell the volatiles released by different fruit. Responses to different volatiles depend on sex, and whether the moth has been mated or not. This allows them to detect the presence of fruit, but also their condition—for example, fruit infested by European sawflies contain a compound that deters codling moths, as these are unsuitable for apple worms.

Images by Shane Farrell (adult) and Peggy Greb (larva).

[lilly-onthevalley]

📍Products from my June

Dark Self-Tanner

I've been loving self tanning. My skin is dark but it does have some parts of hyper pigmentation and discolouration that come about naturally. Bondi Sands Dark and Extra Dark are my favourite. Many black women are skeptical about self tanner and if it will work on them, so I decided to test it out. After 10 hours I noticed a new glow added to my skin plus a lovely long lasting coconut fragrance. It covered some of my vitiligo marks and lessened the appearance of some other blemishes. It evened out my skin tone in such a beautiful way. I tanned right before a golf competition and my skin looked bright and perfectly browned under the sun, I was so happy with the results and I received lots of lovely feedback. Definitely something I'll be doing for the rest of my life.

After that I went on to tan my face. It did burn a little bit however I have the backing of a dermatologist so I had no worries. I loved the results as well. It made my face a bit darker than normal, like I was laying in the sun for an hour or 2. I loved the results as it covered a decent amount of yellowness in my face. I overall looked healthier, however, it got rid of the dimensions of my face. My naturally light undereyes and upper eyebrows and naturally dark eye lids and cheek bone areas were all blended into one colour. I had no problem with the flat doll look but I had to alter my makeup routine to add some dimension when I wanted it.

Tom Ford Fruity Fragrances

I used to hate Tom Ford Fragrances with a passion till I smelt one of them on my guy friends. My problem used to be with the fact that when you sprayed something like Bitter Peach, what you would get was a Bitter Peach smell, nothing more, nothing less. Tom Ford seemed like something boring and jarring.

I couldn't get the fragrance out of my head which obviously reflected that I had some internal hypocrisy going on. I decided to go get myself some of my most hated to try them out. Lost Cherry, Bitter Peach (of course), Rose Prick and Tobac .V.

Long story short, my ignorance was thwarted and I saw the light. The Fragrances melted with my chemistry and made a completely different perfume than the one that's stuck in the bottle. Moreover, I found so many layering opportunities because of the monotony of the perfumes. I love smelling sweet, so I found a way to turn up the sweetness in all of these so that they fit my dream.

Zimmerman

I've finally fully caught onto the Zimmerman wave, I know I'm terribly late, but better late than never. I absolutely love the vibe of Zimmerman. It reminds me of a Midsummer fever dream. They're colourful, pretty and lovely. Definitely my style and the clothing is petite friendly. Not too long and not too short. I can tell I will definitely be purchasing more.

MAC Blushes

Breath of plum and Fleur Power have been my favourite editions to my makeup collection. They're just pink enough for me. I'm into the extremely flushed look these days and MAC has done it for me perfectly. It lasts long, the feedback has been wonderful, I just love it so so much. I think I'm emotionally tied to them. Honestly, the pigment is wonderful and long lasting. I'm glad to find an affordable blush that doesn't disappear on dark skin.

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[fruit-salad-ship]

Can I ask what happens to Peach and Plum in the mafia au? 👀

theres two outcomes.

before they take different paths, the setup is that the girls fall madly in love with each other but theres secrets, plum learns of peach's bloody work and at first is afraid, upon peach telling her to get out while she can, to leave and not come back, peach says 'red's not your colour' in refrence to the kind of bloodshed peach causes, the work she does. plum thinks this over for a few days, finally showing up for a shift on stage in the bar peach owns. She turns up in the boldest red dress she can and states before her set that 'actually, i think red suits me just fine.' which leads to one of the most amazing sets shes ever done, one peach cant seem to look away from.

From there plum demands she is involved in the family buisness, she becomes a killer, she adjusts to the lifetyle better than peach does. Peach takes over from her mother and becomes the boss of her crime family, with her right hand woman, her cousins by her side, and a loving family all things considered. all bar mother, who tries on several occasions to get rid of Plum, aware of what her daughter is, ashamed of peachs' prefrences, but unable to kill her only heir, instead removing love interests. peach definetly finds out, and there is conflict.

after a while of dubious deals and long loving nights, the girls are content, happy, and one christmas peach is in her office wondering what to get her beloved partnr in crime. she fumbles her own ring, something she fidgets with, drops it, and has to go get it. in the act of getting down on one knee to pick it up, something clicks in her head. something peach immediatly dismisses as too soon, too much, stupid, completly idiotic. besides, as fun as this has been, peach cant give plum the world she deserves. cant give her the lavish wedding, people would disapprove, it'd have to be a secret for very few to know and be part of. Peach ignores the stupid thought, leaves the office, does her best to just not think about that as she paces the streets trying to find the perfect gift.

coats and bags are nice and all but plums got an amazing collection. Dresses are fine but its nice to get plum something she can try on first, the womans particular in her tastes. peach passes by a jewelry store, pauses, looks in the window, convincing herself shes going in for other reasons.

long story short, after a violent run in with a rival gang, peach is nursing wounds christmas eve, having hobbled home in time for the big family party, she's sorry shes late, but no one cares, she's in a state. Her dad patches her up, plum is alerted in the other room and slips away, by her side in a second. the girls go up to peachs room to get her dressed, help her with the scapes, peach has to look relativly ok, she doesnt like the kids in the house to see her hurt, so makeup to cover the obvious issues. shes sat on the bed tying shoes, asking plum to pass her smokes from the pocket of her jacket she had on, sore and tired, she does not think. plum reaches in and finds a small box, not that peach sees, not for a while, glancing up as plum turns, box in hand, open, a ring inside.

peach trips over her words, says its not what it looks like, she'd just, picked it up, for someone else? the inscription on the inside says otherwise. she is SO embarrassed, plum has said nothing. so instead of the lavish extravagant proposal peach wanted to try and give the love of her life, she fumbles hard, knows in her heart it'll be a no, says it out loud, that she cant even offer up a legally binding marriage, cant give her the big church or the flamboyant party, so many people would be in outrage for this. plum still has said NOTHING. in fact shes enjoying peach's out of charater levels of nervousness.

plum leaves, still no words, interrupted by peach's cousin coming up with antiseptic for the wounds. peach didnt get an answer, just in shock.

plum is seen drinkign later at the party with one hell of a ring on her hand, something others spot and ask her about. she lies to those who dont know, says she got engaged, but those who are aware of her and peachs entanglement look to the mafia boss with shock. hell, PEACH is shocked. was that a yes? that was a yes right?? no? the two reconnect as people dance and sing and drink, tucked aside, peach finally gets a yes. a clear, difinitive answer. plum says that nothing they do is legal anyway, whats one more thing?

SO! the girls have a secret wedding, buy a house, do it up, live and very VERY happy life. But peach's mom learns of the truth, disgusted with her daughter, furious of being left out of this, she contacts one of peachs EX's, an unhinged woman, deadly.

Peach is eventually confronted by this insane person, hellbent on the notion that 'if i cant have her, no one can', so she's busy trying to kill peach.

And here's where the story splits. It can go well. it can go poorly.

option 1) peach and her Ex have a confrontation, plum gets caught up in it, and so peach asks grey to get her out of the burning building, get her far away from there. she'll deal with the woman trying to kill them all. peach is shot and killed, the building comes down, and plum sees it. her struggle to get free works, sprinting back to the rubble. she finds her wife dead, shot, only one of the twin revolvers she kept on her person present. In her hand, the wedding ring she never took off is clutched tight. Plum refuses to leave her, the cries of utter heartbreak echo across the town. no one can even begin to console her, she wont stop crying, wont leave the body, wont move. it takes hours for her to even consider being shifted with her wife.

plums life loses all music, she grows cold, angry, left with her wifes weding ring, and one of two guns that she wielded, along side the now empty home she built with the love of her life. she never sings again. instead her time is spent trying to find the missing revolver, whoever has it, killed peach. and one day she finds who did this, the Ex who took everything from her. they get in a shoot out, plum gets shot too, but also takes down the woman who did this. she's got her revenge. in the moments of dying, plum sees peach, as if she'd been waiting for her the whole time, she looks healthy, her hand is warm, they are reunited. it is a sad but wonderful moment.

Grey writes a very heartfelt song about them both, and becomes a notable composer because of it. he is the only one left, the twin revolvers that his best friend wielded, and then plum, now hung above his fireplace. he is the only one to make it to his older years.

OR option 2) the building set alight, the ex confrontation, the set up by mother peach all happens, peach DOES get shot, but in the collapse of the space she managed to get under something sturdy. Plum still gets free of being dragged away from danger, digging through the rubble, tearing her hands to shreds until she finds one of the guns she knows instantly. Close by under bricks and debris, her wife is still alive. Unconcious, shot, but very much breathing. terrified, they get her to a hospital, and there plum stays for days waiting for any sign that she'll wake up. peach does indeed come around, she hurts, leg in a cast, but next to her in a chair, head on the bed sleeping, plum is there. theres flowers, she can tell her beloved partner has been there a while, says nothing but just cries quietly. For sure thought she'd not come out of that one, so grateful to be alive still.

Plum wakes up to see peach eyes open, tired but with her, still with her. shes a wreck, cries like a baby, peach despite aches gives her this huge hug, squeezes as best she can, ever the rock. the girls eventually get to go home. peach finds out how her Ex found her, tracking it back to her mother, but lets it slide, she cant kill her own blood. but plum can. shes PISSED, and so mother peach does indeed die by the hands of the singer, and they are finally free of her tyrany. They sell the bar, move to the big city, buy a better bigger more impressive venue, and plum becomes the talented singer she was born to be. The final delight is the girls stood, a little older, a little calmer, but together, staring up at plums name in lights on a billboard, prepped for a huge show the next night. Peach looks at her, and shes just as beautiful as she ever was, a picture of elegance. says she knew plum could do this, people doubted her, but there was no way this wasnt her calling. Theyre happy, theyre alive, theyre together.